The Echo Man, page 27
There’s a woman on the other side. She’s tall, dark hair, dressed in a smart shirt and black jeans. Jess knows exactly who this is. Griffin’s sister, Cara Elliott. It feels strange her being so close, like seeing a celebrity in the flesh. Elliott says something to Taylor, and Jess hears her swear.
“What do you mean, you need her?” Jess hears Taylor say.
Elliott says something else. Taylor looks furious but mutters, “Yes, boss.”
Cara stares at Jess, then tilts her head toward the exit. “Come with me, please?”
Taylor watches, glum faced, as Jess leaves. Jess walks wordlessly down the corridor, into a different interview room. The DCI closes the door behind them but makes no attempt to sit down.
“Jessica, I’m Detective Chief Inspector Elliott,” she says.
“How is Griffin?” Jess asks. “Please?”
DCI Elliott smiles. “He’s doing fine, awake and talking in the hospital. Thank you for calling the ambulance,” she says. “You saved his life.”
“He saved mine,” Jess replies. “Can I see him?”
“No, I’m sorry.” The detective’s face turns serious again. “I need you to help us. We have Dr. Sharma in custody.”
“Nav? Why?” Jess stutters.
“We’ve arrested him for attempted murder.”
“What?” Jess can’t believe what she’s hearing. Why would Nav want to kill Griffin? “You must have the wrong person. He’s a doctor, he saves lives.”
Elliott frowns. “We turned up at the hospital to interview him, and he confessed straight away. Says he’s prepared to make a full statement.”
“To what? What does he say he did?”
“He persuaded Griffin to let him inject him with a painkiller, then used a potentially lethal amount of diamorphine. But he wants to speak to you first. Alone.”
Jess’s legs feel weak. She leans against the wall.
“What does he want to say to me?” she whispers.
“That’s what we’d like to know. It’s against protocol, but we think he knows something. Something that might help us find the Echo Man.”
Jess’s head snaps up. “He’s not involved with that.”
“Really, Jessica?” Elliott says. “This guy tries to kill my brother in exactly the same way as Britain’s most prolific serial killer, and you don’t think it’s connected?”
Jess shakes her head over and over again. “He’s not. He can’t be.” Not him. Not Nav.
DCI Elliott opens the door. Jess can see determination on her face. It reminds her of Griffin.
“Let’s go see, shall we?” the detective says.
CHAPTER
66
JESS LOOKS THROUGH the small window in the door. She can just see Nav slumped at the table. He’s wearing a gray tracksuit, a light blue blanket draped around his shoulders. His hands are handcuffed in front of him, his head is bent.
She looks at DCI Elliott, standing next to her.
“What should I do?” Jess asks.
“Let him lead the conversation. He’s asked to see you, so there must be something he wants to say. But there’s no way I’m letting you in there without listening to your conversation—your every move will be taped, every word recorded. Understand?”
Jess nods. Elliott opens the door and Nav turns, going to stand up when he sees Jess.
“Sit down,” DCI Elliott says sternly. “You have ten minutes.” And she closes the door behind them.
“Jess, I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.” Nav slumps back into the chair again. He puts his hands over his face and starts to cry, shoulders heaving. Jess reaches over and takes his hand.
He looks up at her. He looks awful. His eyes are red and bloodshot, his face drawn. She grips his hands tightly; they’re clammy and hot.
“Nav,” Jess says softly. “What happened? They’re saying you tried to kill Griffin, but that’s not right, is it?”
She has to struggle to keep her emotions in check. She wants to scream at him, shout at him to stop being so stupid, but she has to stay calm. She has to help him.
He shakes his head. “I’m so sorry. He told me I had to.”
Jess feels an icy shiver run through her body. “Who told you, Nav?”
Nav looks up, and his eyes fix on the black dome in the corner of the room. “They’re recording us?”
“Yes.”
He leans forward toward her, lowering his voice to an almost imperceptible murmur. “They can’t know, Jess. He said.”
“Who?”
“I don’t know. I had a note left in my locker. It said he’d be back in touch soon. There was a memory stick with it.” He looks down at his hands, crying again. “I plugged it into my computer. It was a video file. It was you, Jess. With a man.”
Jess can hardly breathe. The room is stiflingly hot. “What man?” she whispers.
“I don’t know, I didn’t recognize him. It looked like you were in some restroom somewhere. You were …” His voice tails off and he takes a shuddering breath in and out. “You were having sex. The time stamp said it was a week ago.”
Jess can’t move. Restroom. Some bloke. Someone, somehow, had been filming her, the day of the fire. She feels her skin prickling, her face flushing.
“When did you get this?” Jess manages to ask.
“Today. Then as soon as I finished watching, I got a message. It said that unless I …” He’s crying again, sniffing back snot and tears as he talks, his voice no more than a whisper. “Unless I killed Griffin, he would give this to the police. He was very specific—he talked about diamorphine. Then you called and I had the excuse I needed. I couldn’t have the police having the video. It shows motive, Jess.”
“I didn’t kill Patrick,” Jess mutters, still stunned by what he’s saying.
“I know. But that wasn’t all. There were … There were photos. Of … of women.” He screws his eyes tightly shut. “Dead women. Murdered. He said he’d do the same to you. That he’d kill you and Alice. That he’d make you suffer. Torture you, rape you …”
“So why didn’t you call the police? They would have protected me.”
He looks at her. “The very people you hate? The people you ran away from in the hospital, leaving your daughter behind, just so they wouldn’t arrest you? And he said it wouldn’t make any difference. He would still get to you. I—”
“But to kill someone, Nav? To kill Griffin?” Jess cries out.
Nav can’t look at her, but he squeezes her hand tightly with both of his. “I love you, Jess. I always have. I’d do anything for you.”
“I …” There’s nothing Jess can say. She did know, deep down, how he felt about her, but her shattered self-esteem never allowed her to believe it. Not really. Someone like Nav, falling for someone like her? But now—this? This is crazy.
“Where’s the memory stick now?” she whispers, glancing back at the door.
“Still at work, in my locker. Why—?” Then he realizes. “You can’t possibly go and fetch it? Jess, it’s too dangerous, this man … Promise me, please?”
“I promise. But Nav, you have to tell the police. Tell them everything. Otherwise, they’ll charge you with attempted murder. You’ll go to jail.”
The door opens and DCI Elliott comes back inside.
“Have you said all you need to say, Dr. Sharma?” she asks, her voice cold.
Nav nods. His face crumples and he starts to cry again, sobbing now, his head in his hands, fingers raking at his hair.
Jess wants to hug him, but DCI Elliott pulls her into the corridor. She hands Jess a tissue, and Jess realizes she’s crying too.
“What did he say?”
“You tell me. You were listening.” But they must have been speaking too quietly, and Elliott is still in the dark.
“Stop playing games, Jessica. What did he tell you?”
“Just what you said,” Jess replies. “That he injected Griffin with diamorphine.”
“Nothing else?”
“And that he loves me.”
DCI Elliott raises an eyebrow. “That’s becoming a bit of a problem around here,” she mutters under her breath.
Elliott escorts her back to her cell. The door slams shut and Jess stares at it, Nav’s words running around in her head. She’d promised him, but she knows there’s no way she’s going to leave that evidence out there. The proof that Nav was blackmailed to attack Griffin.
And a motive for killing her husband. Something she knows DS Taylor will twist and mold until she’s locked away for good.
Jess needs to get to the hospital, to get that memory stick. But how can she possibly do that, locked in here?
CHAPTER
67
THE ROAD TURNS to a gravel track. He cuts the headlights as he brings the car to a stop and climbs out. His eyes take a moment to adjust to the darkness as he stands in the clearing, his hands on his hips, looking up to the sky. A shard of moonlight cuts through the clouds; he knows it’s going to rain soon.
He goes back to the car and opens the trunk. She looks up at him, her big blue eyes wide with fear. Her hands are tied in front of her, her feet bound, and she breathes hard through her nose, the tape on her mouth moving in and out in a quick rhythm. He grabs her hands and pulls her up. Her naked skin feels cold to his touch and she’s shivering, but that doesn’t matter to him now.
He carries her to the middle of the clearing, then drops her into the mud. She looks up, and sees the rope hanging loosely in the tree above them. Her eyes bulge; she makes a muffled scream and tries to move, but she’s tied too tightly, in too much pain. He watches her, amused. He likes her spirit. Maybe once he gets going, she’ll hold on longer than he thinks, and he pulls her back, rolling her over to her front and planting a quick kick in her ribs. She moans, then lies still, her chest contracting with the force of her panicked breathing.
But this woman is just the starter. His entrée, the bit you sample before the main course. He’s saving the best for last—Jessica Ambrose. Beautiful, exceptional, unique. His angel. When he’d seen her at the supermarket that day, he’d recognized her from all those years ago. The woman she’d grown into wasn’t so different from the kid she’d been at the children’s home, and all the pieces had fallen into place. He’d seen the adoring look in her friend’s eyes, the NHS lanyard around his neck, and known there and then how it would work.
He knows she’s at the police station now, but he’s not worried. There’s nowhere he can’t get access to, no obstacle he can’t overcome.
The doctor had been useful; Shipman had ruined it for everyone, it was hard to get hold of controlled drugs nowadays. This guy had access to diamorphine, he knew how much and where to inject. And Dr. Sharma was perfect: honest, genuine, in love—everything he hated. He wants to destroy all that’s good in this world.
He walks to the car and takes out his bag, carrying it back. He kneels next to the woman, then takes out each tool in turn, laying it down so she can see. The knives: a large hunting knife, a long, thin fillet knife, a few scalpels, all clean and sharp. A costotome—his new toy, shiny and unused, a specialist bone cutter, bought especially for today. He’s looking forward to that in particular.
Time to begin.
He stands up again, picking up the biggest knife. She’s been staring, as he hoped she would, and now she makes a frantic animal cry, her head shaking: no no no. But he places his knee on the bottom of her back and leans forward, his left hand on her neck, all his weight forcing her immobile.
He’s enjoying the moment, feeling the weight of the knife in his hand. Then he reaches down, holding tight to her neck as he pushes the blade into the skin on her back. It goes in easily and he starts to cut, dissecting muscles, cartilage, arteries and veins.
Her fingers splay outward; her muscles tense; her feet twitch with pain. She’s screaming as best as she can, her breathing labored, her face pushed into the mud.
But it doesn’t stop him. He continues to work, sweating now with the exertion, until he notices she’s gone still. He pauses, briefly. Her eyes are closed, and he puts two fingers to her neck. There’s still a pulse, weak and thready. The last residue of life hanging on.
He stops what he’s doing and moves around to her face. He picks up a small scalpel. It’s only right, he thinks. When she wakes up again, she’ll want to see this.
He doesn’t want her to miss a single thing.
CHAPTER
68
“YOU’RE KIDDING.”
DS Taylor stands facing Cara, her hands on her hips, face like thunder.
“No. I’m not kidding.” Cara spells it out slowly. “You have to let her go.”
“She’ll just run again.”
“That’s what I’m hoping. Dr. Sharma told her more than just declarations of love. She has something in mind. I want to follow her.”
Taylor makes a loud exclamation and throws her hands in the air, turning away. Cara knows Taylor has no choice but to do what she’s asked. Cara is the superior officer and has the agreement of DCS Marsh, but it doesn’t stop a small part of her enjoying pissing Taylor off.
“Taylor?” she shouts down the corridor at the departing detective. “Tell me when she’s released!” She receives an annoyed hand in the air in response.
Cara returns to the incident room, where the team are anxiously waiting, and stands at the front.
“Right. We know Jessica Ambrose is a flight risk, so no screw-ups please. But we need to know where she’s going. Like many of you, I don’t believe Dr. Sharma is the Echo Man—Warmington, follow up with the hospital for alibis, please—but I’m under no illusion that he did this under his own volition.”
She assigns duties to the team, ensuring that every move Jessica Ambrose makes is covered while other detectives continue to follow up on leads at the station. She’s nervous. She needs this to work.
Her phone buzzes in her pocket, and she pulls it out.
Being released from custody now, the message from Taylor says. Called her a taxi.
Cara leaves the incident room and goes down the stairs to the main reception, where Jess is waiting. She watches her through the glass panel in the door.
Seeing Jessica Ambrose up close has been interesting. She’s seen photos, sure, but Cara’s fascinated now she’s there in person. The woman Griffin’s been risking his career to hide in his apartment.
And she looks a mess. She’s not wearing any makeup, her hair is barely brushed, tied up in a loose ponytail. She’s wearing badly fitting clothes, including a sweater Cara realizes was Mia’s. Seeing it makes Cara jolt. Griffin’s worship of his wife was all-encompassing, and Cara realizes how much Griffin must care about Jess. Dr. Sharma too. And she wonders why.
Jessica Ambrose doesn’t seem particularly distinctive. She’s pretty, yes, but not astonishingly so. She doesn’t smile. She’s grumpy rather than charming.
But then Jess stands up. Cara’s musing will have to wait. The taxi has arrived.
They’re on the move.
CHAPTER
69
RELEASED UNDER INVESTIGATION. Jess doesn’t know what that means, except she’s glad she doesn’t have to spend any longer in that cell. She’s out and in a taxi, heading for the hospital.
She arrives and uses Griffin’s card to pay. She’s been here a few times with Nav, so she knows where she’s going. She’s guessed his locker is in the men’s changing room, and she heads toward it.
She knows Griffin is somewhere in this hospital, and she’s desperate to see him. She needs to be with him; she feels a pull that she hasn’t felt with someone for some time. With her husband, the overwhelming feeling was disappointment. That her very existence was letting him down. But Griffin takes her as she is. There’s no attempt to fix her.
But she can’t see him now. Finding this memory stick and the photos are more important. This is the only evidence that Nav was blackmailed. She’ll give it to the police, and they’ll know.
She reaches the men’s changing room and, glancing around, pushes the door open tentatively. To her relief, the room is empty, and she heads to Nav’s locker. She knows him well and enters his old room number into the combination on the padlock, clicking it open.
Inside she finds his laptop bag and she pulls it out, laying it down on one of the benches and scrabbling in the pockets. There are two memory sticks inside. One with the initials “NS” scrawled on in pen, the other black and bare.
And then the photographs. A bundle of five in a plain white envelope. Old fashioned, white frames around the plastic, the images blurred and hazy. But Jess is in no doubt what they are. Women: eyes wide, mouths screaming, legs apart. Bloody fingers in front of their faces, trying redundantly to protect themselves.
Her hand goes to her mouth. It’s no wonder Nav felt he had no choice but to inject Griffin. With the knowledge of who this man had already killed, seeing this as evidence of what he could do. To her.
She feels cold horror trickling down her back, knowing the risk of being here. But Jess has to see it for herself first. She could have just told DCI Elliott as soon as she left the interview room, but she feels the complete humiliation of being filmed with this guy. She wants to watch it, to see what Nav was seeing. To confirm for herself what a shitty person she is.
She gathers it all up and leaves the changing room, hurrying down the corridor, looking for an empty space, anywhere where she won’t be disturbed.
At last she sees a cleaner’s cupboard and opens the door, turning the light on. She closes it behind her, sitting on the floor among the mops and buckets, resting the laptop on her knees. She turns it on, logs in as a guest user, and impatiently waits for it to boot up.
The home screen eventually loads, and she puts the black memory stick in. The computer hums, then the symbol for the drive appears on the desktop. She clicks on it, nerves making her hands shake. There’s one file.
